With shades, stripes and swaths of swishy fabric, so ends the Great WardRObe Experiment.

Five years ago, on Rosie’s first birthday, I wrote this:

Rosie rules. She is spunky, she is scrappy, she is hilarious, she is punk rock, she is beautiful. She will CUTCHEW if you take something from her, but she’ll also give real kisses, right on the mouth, complete with smacking lips. Her devotion to Noah is unwavering, and “Da!” is the first word on her lips in the morning. When I come in a room she reaches for me, arms up and head flung back in joyful anticipation of the flight to my hip. She sings along to sound, be it radio or vacuum, and she is fearless in ways that make me enormously proud and terrified at the same time. She came into this world kicking all kinds of ass from the start, and I love every spiky hair on her head.”

All of that (save the hip-holding and “Da” calling)—rings just as true today as it did then. Her hair may no longer be spiky, but I still love every one on her head.

There are a few more things I want to say to wrap up this week of being WardRObed (and some outtake shots to share), but right now, I have a 6th birthday party to plan.

Rosie Mae, your cool is contagious. Six looks good on you, girlfriend. And six is looking pretty good on me, too. Keep on spreading that fearless flair—the world is a better place, colored with your special shade of Rosie.